Wrapped in Piano Strings
by Anti-canon
Summary: Steampunk AU, Castiel Novak, youngest son of a down and out watchmaker meets the equally bereft Winchester family in a country burning with the cries of revolution.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Clearly I needed another WIP, as if I didn't have enough. :P But this story just demanded to be written at 3:25 in the morning and so I started writing it. On my cell phone. In the dark. Ya... Anyways, the main inspiration for this comes from Lettie's recent Destiel steampunk art for her advent and Wrapped in Piano Strings by Radical Face (I have links to both of these on the LJ version of this story if you're so inclined). Both of them were integral in the creation of this fic so... ya. ^^ I'm really excited to see where this takes me and I hope you all are too. Lemme know what you think. **(This is just a lil' taste of what's to come! I promise!)

Cas was the youngest son of four to a notable watch maker and as such had always been afforded the luxury of attending school long past the age that most merchant's children continued their studies. Always having one of the older boys in the shop to help his father had rendered him a bit superfluous to the family business and so he had been left to his own devices as long as he stayed out of trouble. That is, until the riots began. You see, Castiel had been born into an era of great unrest in the country, politics turning violent in the streets, and though he had remained mostly ignorant of it for the majority of his life, it quickly took over.

His oldest brother, Lucifer, took off to join the underground revolutionary movement, convinced he could make a difference in this world and bring about change. After that, Michael, the next in line, joined the King's Royal Army, as noble in purpose and pure in intentions as his brother before him. Gabriel, the last before the gauntlet was passed to Cas, didn't stay long after their departure and soon left, hoping to find a life outside of the struggle that had torn his family apart.

Then, and only then, did Cas come to understand the true extent of what had been raging on around him all these years. He had been forced to leave his academic pursuits and learn his father's craft, for he had an unwed twin sister to care for, and his father was all but broken after his great loss.

But Castiel was not the only one to have been so touched by tragedy at the hands of this attempted revolution. There was another family, growing up right beside them, that also knew the price to be paid for great change. A mother lost, a father gone in all but body, and two brothers left to grow up too soon, looking after each other their primary goal. Luckily, over the years, they came to find good friends to help them along the way. A local engineer to take them under his wing and teach them the tools of his trade. The owner of the nearby inn and her daughter, to offer them food and a place to stay when they had none. And soon to be, a watch maker's son, a friend to one, a lover to the other.

This is a story of how, despite much pain and sorrow, against all odds, a group of misfits came together to find something they were all desperately searching for. Something everyone needs. A family.


	2. Castiel

**A/N: So, despite how I planned this out originally in my head, it ended up writing itself as a series of drabbles or vignettes. Surprise surprise. :P I really can't write anything vaguely lengthy at all. Sorry if this changes your feelings about it all. :\**

"_There is more treasure in books than in all the pirate's loot on Treasure Island._" – Walt Disney

Castiel allows himself a small smile as his fingers trail fondly over the worn spines of the many tomes that line the walls of ramshackle library in the city's center. The bound leather is soft and warm beneath the pads of his index and knuckles, beckoning him to pry them open and discover their secrets. His touch is fond as he considers the many different titles, lettering tattered and fading. He ponders the merits of reading up on some worthwhile craft or another, maybe even perusing a biography or two, and extrapolating things that might make themselves useful, but the fiction section calls to him and he cannot refuse it on one of his rare days off.

He is filled with a kind of sadness as his steps echo at the emptiness of the building- not many having time for the "folly" of imaginary worlds while a war threatens to break loose. His hands linger on the railing as he ascends the spiral staircase and breathes in the slightly musty odor that reminds him more of home than any other. Between the pages of books only heroes are found in times such as these and though it's not something he would voice aloud- he wistfully relates himself to the damsels in distress that get swept up in the adventure and eventually hold the key to the heroes success. Though he often wishes otherwise there are no princes here to save him from the oppressive reach of the King and his empire- his father and the family's shop- so instead he lets his mind wander here.

When Castiel cracks the weary spines of the many tales that defined his childhood he can believe in destiny and fate, trial and tribulation, treasure and triumph. The world is so much simpler there and more than anything, he wishes it were the same here. Picking up an old favorite- _Peter Pan and Wendy_- he finds a secluded corner and holes up there, back pressed against the dusty stacks, and sinks in.


	3. Dean

**A/N: This really shouldn't have taken as long as it did, but I've been rather busy in other fandoms as well as having taken on some beta work and filling a request or two. Combine that with my laziness and you get a 300 word update that should have been here about five days ago. :P Oops. I rather like the way that I have decided to continue this story and I hope the format grows on the rest of you. **

"_Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it."- Mark Twain_

Dean doesn't make a habit of talking to people he knows aren't really listening and as such has always found the world to be an empty place. He charms the merchants he knows he will have to deal with for the foreseeable future, keeps an open mind for every beautiful women that passes him on the street, and knows how to pitch a sale like no one else in his business, but you are a rare person indeed if he actually _talks_ to you.

Somehow, the people around him can sense this and give him a wide emotional berth, showing pity for his circumstances, but nothing beyond that. He does not want their pity, and any person that offers it is no longer someone he wishes to waste his time with. In exchange for their pity he deals out contempt.

He doesn't need their misplaced sadness and unfelt apologies and promises. He and his brother have been doing fine, taking care of themselves, and he is loyal to those who have made themselves deserving of it. And for a long time, this is enough. His brother and their safety is all he needs.

But now there is something growing within him, something that eats away and leaves him wanting. He doesn't know how to handle it and he's not yet sure whether it is something that he can overcome. For Sam he will try, but if he had someone to tell the truth to, he would profess that for the first time in years he hasn't felt the least bit confident.


	4. Sam

**A/N: Hooray, I got another chapter done today! They're tiny, but vignettes take a lot of effort, I swear! :P Writing short pieces is just as hard as longer ones, making them poignant is tough! At least for me. 3 Please R&R, I love to hear from you guys, even if it's just a hey! ^^ **

"_Language has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone, and the word solitude to express the glory of being alone."- Paul Tillich_

Sam can see the loneliness that has started to infect his older brother with its crippling debilitation. And for a while he does nothing, he ignores the problem as his upbringing has taught him to do. When he catches Dean staring into the distance, or reading a book without turning the pages he simply makes an excuse for leaving and heads out into the city. More often than not he finds himself in the nearly desolate library at its heart. Once there he buries his nose in the musty pages of some forgotten tome and hides away from the troubles of the world.

Unlike his brother, Sam does not feel the loneliness of the world, it does not weigh him down and pull at his insides like it does so many others. He finds a kind of solitude in it all and quietly revels in it. This glory at a situation that makes so many others miserable causes him considerable guilt, but doesn't change the way he thinks. He spends many an hour with the two feelings warring inside him, but there is never a question to which one will win out.

For this, he has come to a decision. It is terrifying and he only ever mulls it over in the strictest privacy of his mind, but it is always there just beneath the surface. He has begun to prepare for the inevitable and he only hopes that it doesn't affect those who have grown close to him. He doesn't think that he could bear knowing he caused more pain for his older brother than was already present. But he feels as though it is out of his hands at this point. In a few months' time he's not going to be here anymore and he hopes Dean won't have to deal with being alone.


	5. Dreams

**A/N: What? They're getting shorter? Nonsense, they can't possibly be- Oh God, they're getting shorter. Welps, I guess this was gonna happen sooner or later. You have now all found out that I am a terrible author/person. :P Flee while you still can. **

"_I close my eyes, then I drift away, into the magic night I softly say. A silent prayer, like dreamers do, then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you_." - Roy Orbison

When Dean dreams, they are always the same. He is standing on a ledge in some faraway place, where the smog does not cover the sky and there are no towering buildings in site. Below him a shimmering pond throws harsh glares of light in his face periodically, with the tides. Here, in this place, he is at peace. He breathes the air in deep as he isn't able to in the claustrophobic city and lets the wind blow through around, fresh and clean.

All the same, there is something missing and he can feel it. He feels that emptiness as though it a knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into his chest. But no matter how hard he searches, he is alone. Eventually, he reaches a kind of clarity and begins to walk forward, resolute, stoic. The water below calls to him, sings in a voice that cannot be denied. He is ready, prepared to give what this world asks.

Just before he can take his last step, a hand rests upon his shoulder, gentle but firm. He stares at the slender fingers for many moments, the skin still soft, that of a merchant's life. Slowly, he begins to turn and follow the length of the arm that belongs to his savior. When he makes the full revolution, all he can pay mind to is the clear blue eyes that gaze at him just like his mother's used to.


	6. Hidden

**A/N: Lookit guys! We're finally getting places! Herpin' to the derpin'. I'm quite happy with this format and I'm having loads of fun writing this so I sincerely hope there's some people out there who enjoy reading it too. Please lemme know if you're out there! **

"_And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you, because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it._"- Roald Dahl

Dean has always prided himself on his ability to stay grounded. He can stay in the present, get done what needs to be, never allowing any kind of distraction. For this reason, Sam has been able to keep what little childhood he still has- can still believe in destiny and fate, believe that the world can still produce miracles. Dean hasn't believed this for quite some time and had always thought himself better off for it. But today is different.

Today he woke with a nagging itch to replace the usual weighted pull of his problems. He hasn't been able to shake it, and it's got him wide eyed and at attention. The world around him is bustling and alive and he feels as though he's right on the cusp of something big. Nothing has changed in his daily routine, there is no evidence to believe that today will be different than any other, but he can _feel_ the change in his bones. It is a taste in the air, a hum on the wind, the thrumming in his skin. Today is different he just knows it.

Sam looks nervous beside him, confused at his sudden nerves. For no, Dean ignores him in favor of searching, searching, for what he doesn't know. Until he sees it. There, in the watchmaker's shop, a boy roughly his age works diligently at the counter. His hair is dark, his skin, pale, his demeanor serious. A cold chill runs through Dean's veins and somehow he just _knows_- if only the boy will look up! He holds his breath, the air around him tense, like a string pulled taut- ready to snap. As is sensing his stare, the boy slowly begins to look up from his work, gaze searching and _there_. The eyes that watch over him in his dreams.


	7. Admire

**A/N: I sat in front of the computer more or less all day long, so I would feel quite terribly if I didn't write _some_thing. :P I just wanna say this one more time because I can I guess: I am actually quite enjoying this one and I sincerely hope you guys are too. Seriously this is one of the first WIP's I've had that I can write for and just feel great about. The format really drops a lot of pressure and makes writing for this nice and cathartic. ^^ BTW, if any of you have quotes you think I could use feel free to shoot them over. I'm a bit of a quote whore and I love input from readers- I'll be sure to mention you if I do end up using one of them too. **

"_The only things one can admire at length are those one admires without knowing why._" –Jean Rostand

It has been the same thing every morning and evening for the last week, and for some reason Castiel does not question his new routine. Like clockwork, when the sun has begun to rise and the welcoming smell of the day's bread has permeated the air throughout the marketplace, he comes. Every day the boy with troubled eyes and questioning lips comes, and every day they share a look through the window. Cas has taken to waiting for him, making to look as though he is not idle by the window, but never actually able to concentrate on anything but the promise of seeing him again. Seeing the protective arm he so carelessly sling around the other boy, seeing the eager strut of his steps as he approaches, seeing the way his face changes when their eyes meet.

Often times he finds himself thinking on how they might meet, become friends, become more, but he keeps those locked tight away inside his mind. Besides, he would hardly think they could be more than passing eccentricities in each other's lives- meant to connect through that window and nothing more. Always destined to be a '_what if'. _ It was clear he was of a working class by his dress- tweed cap, plaid knickerbockers, collared shirts worn and turned grey with age, all covered with a fine layer of grime. It made Cas feel stuffy in his own clothing and not for the first time he wondered how he would have fared being born into a poorer family. He watches until he can see the boy no longer, chin resting in his hand, thoughts wistful and far away from the watch shop as ever.


	8. Kindness

**A/N: This is what I am doing instead of filling the two requests that I have and catching up on the beta work that I _really_ should be working on. :P It is a serious problem. Herp derp. But this fic is just so much fun to write for and it make me happy. ^^ Lemme know what you guys think about how this is going- and feel free to gimme some quotes you might think I could write off of. Cuz, in case you hadn't already noticed, I don't actually outline this in any way, shape or form. I have a book of quotes that I have marked all up with sticky notes and I just page through that until something sparks and go for it. :P I don't plan out plot, endings, anything, so I apologize, but that's just how I work. **

"_You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late._" – Ralph Waldo Emerson

He doesn't know what possesses him to do it, but suddenly he is out there, on the street, with a fistful of notes and coins. The boy with the sad eyes looks at him with something like hurt, the younger with thanks. He had seen them that evening, returning with defeat clear on their faces on none of the usual day-old foodstuffs in hand. There was never a question as to whether this was the right thing to do. '_Take it!_' Cas tell him, looking back towards the shop, not wanting to be caught by his easily irritable father, and upon seeing that look he knows so well, adds, '_Pay me back later, however you can._' Sad Eyes is still hesitant to change his mind, but after looking back towards the smaller boy nods and takes the money.

Cas knows he is overreaching, pushing this fragile bridge that has been built between them, but he clasps Sad Eyes around the shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze, smiling shyly and looking him in the eye. The boy looks at his hand for a long time, then follows the line of his arm, to his face, and finally meets his gaze. Something is there, something he can't describe and suddenly his face is flush, his breathing growing labored. He knows he should move, drop his hand, something, but he can't. Castiel thinks Sad Eyes can feel it too, this thing between them, always pulling, taking the breath from their lungs. Finally, the smaller boy tugs at his companion's sleeves and the two of them are forced to break. The two of them turn to go home and suddenly Cas is starting to feel colder by the lack of their presence. As they leave, the boy looks back over his shoulder several times until they are out of sight.


	9. Life

**A/N: In celebration of me catching up on my beta work, y'all get a new chapter! Hoorays! I really wish this poor lil' thing had more readers because I simply adore writing for it, but oh wells. "It's not about being read, it's about being written!" right? Haha, why does it always turn out people least like the works of mine I enjoy most? Grr... BTW, I'm still open for requests if you like. I write for many fandoms and pairings, my GWOE 'verse is still open, and I'm accepting quotes for this one... Anyways... Shoot me a PM if you like my writing and are interested. I suppose you'll wanna get on to your fic now ya? ^^ Enjoy!**

"_Life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think._" – Jean De La Bruyere

Sam stands at the foot of his mother's grave on the outskirts of town and takes in a ragged breath, closing his eyes to try and block out the constant sounds of the machinery of the city. The place has grown suffocating with its swells of people, buildings, contraptions, and animals. He feels as though he needs to escape, to leave this place or he just might splinter and break. Today he takes another important step towards his release, today he says goodbye to one of the most influential people in his life, and one he can never really recall meeting.

He is blessedly alone for once- his father to bitter and angry to ever visit the grave marker, and his brother too determined to play strong that he dare not come here in the presence of another. Besides, Dean has memories of her that he likes to cherish in the places and things that she had marked, he sees her in the streets, in the house, in other people. Sam is the only one that sees her here. Here is where he has gotten to know his mother, here is where her memory is trapped for him, and here is where she will set him free from his own cage.

So he kneels by her side, caring not for the dampness that spreads through the fabric on his knees, nor the stains that it will accrue. He tells her of the arrangements he's made, the signs he's waiting for, the preparations yet to come. And the cold stone he speaks to listens and absorbs, free of judgment, but unable to console or advise. For some reason he is always disappointed in this, but he carries on regardless. Sam thinks that he is nearly ready, having given up on his father for now, having made peace with all those who matter, and seeing a change fast coming in Dean. His brother does not think he knows, but Sam sees the way his steps stutter when they approach the watchmaker's shop, has seen the way his eyes drift and hold the gaze of the other boy. He can hear the sharp intake of breath every time their eyes meet, and he can feel the way Dean's whole body tenses up. There is one last thing he must do before he goes, and he thinks talking to his mother will help him understand how.


	10. Destiny

**A/N: So I somehow managed to not write something for approximately three weeks or something! O.o I'm really not sure how that happened. Must've fallen into a wormhole when I wasn't looking because I love writing and usually do it a lot... ANYways. Please come gimme a request for Valentine's Day! I love giving back to readers and so far only one person has actually come forward and asked for something. I'd really love to hear from y'all! **

"_Love nothing but that which comes to you woven in the pattern of your destiny. For what could more aptly fit your needs?_" –Marcus Aurelius

Since the death of his mother Dean had never truly had the conviction to love another person. Sam had been the last one to ever gain that privilege and though he had always thought it would be more than enough for him, lately he had begun to question that. No matter how hard you pressured, you would never get him to admit this change had come about due to his meeting with the watchmaker's son, but in the privacy of his own mind it didn't seem like such a bad thought. Even if it did tend to scare the living daylights out of him.

He had been avoiding the part of the city where the workshop was located for nearly a week now and there was no denying the affect it had been having on his mood. He'd been working whatever overtime he could find, scraping and scrounging, being more diligent in his saving than he had been in a long time, and with any luck he would be able to pay back the blue-eyed boy after his shift tomorrow night. The very thought of seeing him, talking to him, perhaps finally finding out his name had Dean anxious and wide awake even in the dead of the night.

He'd made an excuse for Sam to work only a half day and leave for home early so that he might keep some semblance of his pride intact when he went calling to the north facing window which he now knew to be the only approach to the boy's room. He was eager to pay back his debt and perhaps meet the stranger he now came to think of as his very own 'angel in disguise' on equal terms. The promise of the new day had his heart leaping and as a result he had a constant feeling as though it was falling from great heights back into his chest and it left him breathing thinly. He had never before cared for the destiny Sam so believed in- from the pages of the fairy tales he hoarded in the decrepit city library, but tonight, tonight he could taste it.


	11. Presence

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for completely disappearing on you! I've taken on A LOT of kinda big projects all at the same time because I'm just intelligent like that so that's why I haven't had much time for anything. :P Anyways, here is my triumphant (for me anyways) return to WiPS! Hope y'all enjoy and I swear I'll try harder not to update only once a month. No promises though. :P **

"_The simple lack of her is more to me than others' presence." _– Edward Thomas

It's been a week now since Castiel has seen the boy with the sad eyes and it's left an odd sort of ache in his chest that he hasn't felt before. It is this constant thing that steals away his attention at the most inopportune of moments and no matter how hard he tries, he can't focus on anything lately, no matter how important.

As a result his father has sent him upstairs early today, before the shop was scheduled to close with a soon to be black eye and a heavy serving of guilt. Usually he would spend this time burying his nose in a book or daydreaming about what it might feel like to have Sad Eyes lips brush his ear as he whispers a secret that only they share, but tonight it feels as though his dream world has fractured a bit and instead he falls into bed with a _whump_, not bothering to undress.

Castiel is content to just roll over and let his subconscious take over for the next few hours, hopefully to bring him something nice to think about, but just as his eyes are beginning to close, his breathing beginning to slow a small, sharp sound cracks across the room from his window. Curious, he perks his ears as it is repeated again and again in quick succession. He frowns as he slowly creeps toward the window and opens it to peer down at the most dark and quiet streets.

Shifting back and forth, from foot to foot, Sad Eyes is standing just outside the shop with a handful of rocks and a sheepish smile. And finally, finally Castiel gets to hear him speak… and it is breathtaking. His voice is husky and hushed, something akin to nervousness or thrill making it thin and maybe a little higher than usual, "Come down! I need to see you."


End file.
